Sable Knight
by Finnian4ever
Summary: Marked at the age of fourteen. The prospect for young Sable is frightening, but he has no other choice. A Marking ensures a successful future, something that Sable desperately needs. But still, for the candidate for his Marking to be a dragon...the idea is intimidating, but Sable soon discovers that the one night with the man his parents paid for will drastically change his life.
1. Chapter 1

"What…what did you just say?"

"Are you deaf now as well as half-blind, boy?"

"But you…you can't be serious…I'm only fourteen…"

"Yes, the earlier it is done the better the fortune. You know that, and I am quite unhappy that you are displaying this shocked demeanor to me, rather than an air of deep appreciation. It is nearly unheard of for a family with as little money as ours to arrange a Marking for their only child."

In a small, chilly room hung with brightly colored fabrics, a father and son sat facing one another across a table laid with a simple meal. The door was closed against the whistling November wind but the wood was thin, and little gusts of freezing air kept finding their way inside. The young boy was staring at his father with wide, frightened eyes, a spoonful of stew suspended over his bowl. His father huffed slightly at his expression.

"Don't give me that look; it's not like we sold your soul!"

The man was nearly as small as his son, but his slender arms were corded with muscle and his hands bore the wear of a working man. He was wrapped in a patched sweater, just as his son was, both of them having to fight the cold even while inside their home. The boy let his spoon sink back into his stew, and his eyes followed it, staring into his bowl as if hoping to find some solution there.

"Don't just sit there, Sable, say something for goodness' sake. And don't play with your food; your mother worked her fingers to the bone to pay for the meat that's in there."

"I've lost my appetite." Sable said quietly. His father ran his fingers through his thinning hair and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Must you be so dramatic?"

"And just how do you want me to react?" Sable asked, swallowing a bit.

"Well, I was hoping for a bit more appreciation from you. Your mother and I have been scraping and saving for your Marking from the day you were born. Don't you understand how important this is?"

The boy shivered at his father's words, shrinking into himself slightly as he answered timidly,

"Of course I do, but I just can't believe this; I never thought that this was an option for me! I've had no time to prepare myself for something so…drastic. If ever I did entertain the idea, I always thought I would be older. I thought…I would have more time. It's, it's just so sudden…"

His father leaned forward on the table, a stern look on his face.

"I don't think you understand the weight of the gift we are giving you, Sable. You're almost fifteen, and there's little you can do to make yourself useful here with us any longer. You're not a little child anymore, and you need to start considering your future. Regardless of what trade you chose, a Marking will grantee you success. You act as though this is news for you!"

Sable's breathing had become shallow, his body tense as he considered exactly what was happening. It was all too much, all too quickly…

"Father…you…you are really going to make me do this?"

"Make you do this?" His father repeated, anger heating his voice now, "Didn't you hear a word I just said? Do you know how much we have sacrificed over the years to save enough money for this? Do you know how hard we have worked so that you can make something of yourself beyond being the son of a cloth-dyer? The art isn't in you to begin with, with those eyes of yours! You can't even earn your own keep if you can't see any colors! The time has come for you to pay forward what we have given for your sake; by being Marked. Our business will flood with customers when news of this gets around. At this point it is the only way you can contribute to our family or have any kind of future on your own."

Sable looked devastated, his lips parted slightly as he listened to his father's angry speech. A knot clenched in his stomach, as well as the base of his throat. It choked him, making his throat ache and his breathing more and more strained.

"It's not that I'm not grateful, father. I never even knew you and mom were saving so much but…it's…it's my virginity…"

His father's face softened a bit, but his expression was still determined. His voice, however, was quieter when he spoke again,

"I understand that, Sable, but this is happening. You need to make peace with it and prepare yourself."

Sable swallowed hard, feeling a deep ache in his throat warning him of coming tears. He barely managed to ask, through trembling lips,

"Who...?"

"A dragon of the North. Sarik Eres." The ache in Sable's throat clenched as his head snapped up.

"A _dragon_?"

"Yes, my boy. Be proud; once marked by a dragon you will be a beacon of success and accomplishment. Any avenue down which you turn will open for you with no restrictions."

"I can't…believe…" Sable closed his mouth against the hoarse croak that rose in his voice. A dragon…it was an unprecedented honor. No one in this village had ever had the means to be marked by such a creature. Dragons were not rare in themselves, they often walked among humans in every city and town in their human forms, but their Markings were incredibly expensive. It was said that a dragon's Marking was special, something that endowed the receiver with good fortune and magical protection.

While Sable knew all this, he was far from being excited or even grateful. The idea of being Marked by anyone, let alone a dragon, had always been beyond his reach, or so he thought. He had always assumed that he would grow up, find his own trade, and marry according to his own time and desires. Now, to be told that his virginity would be taken by a complete stranger…a dragon…just to improve his fortune…it seemed downright cruel.

"You had better at least try to finish that stew before it gets cold." His father's voice brought him out of his dark musings, and he shook his head, feeling the itch of tears in the corners of his eyes.

"I'm sorry father…I just can't finish it…I'll save it for tomorrow, I..." He felt the tears slip past his eyelids and roll down his cheeks.

"Go on then to your room," His father said, not unkindly, "go have a good cry and all, but this is happening, and you will thank us someday."

Without another word, Sable rose and headed for the doorway to the hall.

"And you should begin packing as well," His father called after him, "your emissary will be coming to pick you up later tomorrow."

Sable stopped in the doorway, feeling yet another stab through his heart. Tomorrow. So very, very soon. He left the doorway quickly, feeling the urgency to get to the privacy of his room. He slid his door open and shut quickly, leaning back against it and sliding down to the floor, letting the sobs take him and wrack his small body. Anxiety and panic were flooding him, tightening his throat to the point that he could hardly breathe. He had to weep all the more to relieve the tension.

The worst part of all his sorrow was knowing that however unfair his father may seem, everything he spoke was true. Sable had been born a colorblind child to a couple who dyed cloth for a living. Their income depended on creating the right colors, something that Sable could never do. In order for him to help his parents with the work load at all he had to be directed action for action, which ended up being more troublesome in the long run. The most he could do was prepping the cloth to be dyed. He was good at selecting quality cloths from the shops, and bargaining with the sellers. Beyond this, however, he could do nothing to help his parents in their trade. He could not even learn it. He attended the local school, but the village was so small that there were very few children there his own age. Past the age of sixteen most male children either took on their own trade or found their own place in the family business, so Sable was one of the oldest in the school. The other few who were there were all much younger than him. Many times he would skip lessons and spend his time out on the grassy hills or forests that surrounded the village. The teachers could have cared less, having considered him something of a lost cause anyway on account of his inability to even help his parents.

Supporting one's elders was the cornerstone of village life, and being unable to do so made Sable feel like he was breaking an ancient rite. While there was little he could do about it, Sable had never thought much about his future.

But now…He let out a long, halting breath as he gained some measure of control over his sporadic gasps. He leaned his head back against his door and ran his fingers at random through his raven black hair, tossing away the long strands that hung over his ice-grey eyes. He had had his 'cry', just as his father had known he would, and now he felt numb all over. The tears dried up and he found himself staring across his room at nothing. It was a small room, with a small but thickly blanketed mattress on the floor, a small table, and a set of drawers. There was one window, but it was nothing more than a slit in the wall, just big enough for Sable to stick his slender arm through if the glass actually opened somehow. The faint light of the setting sun was glinting against it now, and Sable mechanically reached above his head to flip the switch on the wall. Light brightened the room from the single bulb that was set in the side of the wall.

Sable sighed and dragged himself up just long enough to stumble the two or three steps to his mattress and then he dropped down onto it. He burrowed beneath the pile of blankets and rested his head against his pillow. He felt like letting the night take him, drown him from all the fear that was plaguing him. He was fourteen. He had never so much as kissed anyone, girl or boy, and now a dragon was going to take his body. He shook as he thought of it, the shock still encompassing his entire being.

A small knock at his door made him jump slightly. He did not answer, for he knew who it was. He heard the door slide open quietly, and then soft footsteps made their way to the side of his mattress. He felt a gentle hand touch the top his head, the only part of him that was visible above the pile of blankets. He lifted back the top layer to poke his face out.

"I'm scared." He said brokenly, as his mother's face gazed down at him. She knelt beside him and stroked his hair, saying nothing. She never did.

"I don't know how I am going to do this." He said, closing his eyes, "What in the world does he want me to say?"

She hummed gently, continuing to pet his hair soothingly. It was all she could do to comfort him; she had not spoken a word since his little sister had died two years ago. So they sat there in silence, his mother stroking his hair, and Sable trembling beneath his blankets from a force that had nothing to do with the frigid wind moaning outside.


	2. Chapter 2

Sable woke early the next morning, called to life by the cries of the roosters in their shed. Even above the ever-present howling wind their crowing could be heard. The boy rolled over in his nest of blankets and groaned, wondering briefly why he felt a sudden rush of anxiety through his chest. The next second, however, reality flooded back to him and he remembered what the day held for him. Today his emissary would come to take him away. He shivered, and had to take a deep breath as he remembered all that he had ever been taught about Markings.

Emissaries were the middlemen for the families of the one being Marked. They arranged all the details set forth in the Marking Contract and established communication with the Marker. In cases of those who lived far out of the city, an Emissary came out to escort the selected member of the family to the trysting place. Sable knew that an Emissary was essentially a guardian, and would look after him until the business was done, when he would be returned home.

"_I wonder what my Emissary will be like."_ Sable thought, having heard tales of some very strict Emissaries who had actually driven their charges to tears with overwhelming expectations. Sable knew he would be at the stranger's mercy while in his care, and wondered just how long he would have to wait until the actual night of the deed.

Some Markings followed a prologue of almost courtship behaviors between the Marker and the one receiving the Mark (called a Ward), where the two would enjoy what they could of the big-city scene. Sable had heard tales of extremely expensive Markings where the Marker would take their Ward to concerts, high-end stores, and fancy restaurants, treating them to everything. This type of glitzy 'wooing' was the watermark standard. There were lesser forms of this, like the Emissary taking the Ward out to experience the toast of the city in the Marker's place, and then only for one or two days. Any Marking that included at least one day for the Ward to relax and become familiarized with their surroundings, and/or spend time with their Marker cost a high price.

Sable had always thought the 'wooing' scenarios far more ridiculous than anyone seemed able to realize; whatever coin the Marker would shell out for their Ward would obviously be covered at least in part by their payment. It was nothing more than a charade, a false web of security woven by the high-priced Markers to ease the Wards into their beds more willingly.

"I wonder what kind of prelude there is to a dragon Marking…" Sable muttered to himself, as he realized that a dragon's price in itself was more than he ever thought his parents would be able to afford. Even if they had been saving for fourteen years since the day he was born, how could they ever be able to pay for more than a cheap lay in the afternoon with a politician? Then another thought struck him, and it was so powerful, so intense, that his eyes widened where he lay.

His sister's Marking…of course they must have been saving for her as well…He felt tears burn his eyes. His sister had been eight when she died two years ago, and that would have been a lot of money saved for her even with what little they earned. They must have pooled it together to give him such an expensive Marking. Sable gulped down the solid lump of pain in his throat. His father was right. No matter how he felt about the situation, his father was absolutely right; this was an incredible gift and he needed to make peace with it. Somehow.

Making peace would be easier if Sable knew a little more about dragons. His village was not so obscure that he had never seen a dragon before; Nardak was a tradesman's village and strangers came through on a daily basis. Two or three dragons had passed through in Sable's lifetime, but he had to be told that was what they were. It was difficult for Sable to point them out at a glance because of his colorblindness. He could run his ice-grey eyes right over a dragon and not even know that's what they were unless he took time to note the curved and pointed canines, the slit pupils of the eyes, and the pointed ears. These features could be overlooked completely from the right distance, but the hair was unmistakable to most people. From what Sable had been told dragons carried the color of their scales in their human hair, making them inescapably stand out. There were of course dragons who were black, brown, and gold, making them harder to identify in human form, but there were also more startling and unearthly shades. Bright blue, yellow, magenta, green, silver, essentially every color imaginable could be reflected in different dragons from different areas of the world. This was the reason that Sable would never be able to pick a dragon out from a crowd; he would never see the brilliant hair as anything more than a shade of black, white, or grey.

Ah yes, the brilliant hair. Sable blew out a breath when he remembered another fact he had picked up long ago. In a regular Marking the Ward received a quick sonic brand during the act, usually applied by a signature ring worn by the Maker. The side of the neck was the normal place for the mark to be placed and it didn't even hurt. Apparently, a dragon Marking was reflected in the Ward's own hair once the deed was done; a single lock would forever carry their Marker's color. How this was possible, no one could explain apart from the magic that was said to hang about dragons in general; no technology was used to make the mark, thus increasing their price. Sable remembered a girl of about sixteen who had come to the shop one time when he was young. She had a lighter strip of hair on one side of her dark head. He heard that the color was called _aqua_. While he could not see the color, the difference in shade was starkly noticeable, even to him. Her mother had bragged to Sable's parents about how wide the strip of color was, indicating that her daughter had been granted extremely good fortune. Apparently the larger and more noticeable the color, the more blessed the Ward was by the joining, and the better their future would be.

Sable had always thought this was a complete sham. Of course anyone with a strip of dragon hair could be guaranteed a good future because everyone around them would make it happen, simply due to that belief. It was a future of people's own making; everyone thought they were blessed, and therefore they were. Ridiculous. Even so, it was a proven system, and it would be the making of Sable and his family. There was nothing he could do to deny that, much as he'd like to.

Knowing that lying there any longer was simply avoiding the inevitable, Sable threw back his many layers of blankets and crawled off his mat. He shivered a bit as the cold managed to nip him even through the thick sweater he had worn to bed. He even had socks on as well and his feet were still bitten by winter's icy teeth. He slipped quickly into his tall leather boots, his cold fingers trembling as he did up the many buckles on the sides. He didn't bother changing his clothes, as he was still fully dressed from last night. This was a frequent occurrence in the wintertime. He walked out his door and through the short hallway to the kitchen. His mother was there at the sink, scrubbing the eggs she had collected from the chicken coop. A frying pan was already sitting on the tiny stove, butter sizzling on the bottom.

Wordlessly, Sable stepped up to the stove and turned down the heat of the burner, taking the handle of the skillet and tilting the pan this way and that to let the butter coat the bottom evenly. He could sense his mother's eyes on him, and he turned to smile at her. She smiled back, and handed him an egg when he reached out a hand for one. He began cracking eggs into the skillet expertly, keeping all the yolks intact. His mother patted his back, which was her way of acknowledging his skill. He grinned and helped her dry the clean eggs as the ones in the skillet cooked. It was always nicer to cook during the winter, as the stovetop provided heat. They had an electric heater as well, but it was not enough to heat the entire house evenly, just enough to keep the cold from becoming dangerous. It was situated in the studio, to give as much heat to the workspace as possible, so that the job would be easier during the cold months. Sable knew his father was in the studio now, filling the tubs with water, mixing dyes, and laying out the cloth for Sable to prep. It was the one contribution he could make. That and cooking.

Sable flipped the eggs over and seasoned them with salt and pepper before slicing bread and putting it in the toaster. As he waited for the second side of the eggs to cook, he bit his lip and couldn't help but ask softly,

"Mum, do you know what time my Emissary will be here?"

She paused where she had been taking plates down from a cupboard, before putting them on the counter and holding up two fingers.

"Two o'clock?" Sable asked, but his mother shook her head.

"Eleven o'clock." He tried again, and she nodded. He felt his heart sink. It was eight now, giving him only a few short hours before he had to leave. Before his life would change forever. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because his mother came over to him and pat his cheek softly, reassuringly. She was taller than him, and Sable wondered how strange it might be to look down at your own child and know what you were paying a complete stranger to do to them. It was almost…heartless. But reality was cruel, and this was how it had to be. Survival of the fittest, in a sense.

"I'm fine, mum." He lied, as her eyes watered, "really. I'm fine."

At that moment he heard the telltale creak of his father's footfall on the creaking wood of the hallway. His mother turned away from him, fishing out silverware now. It was not as if his father was in any way a bad or frightening person, but he spoke his mind, and at times that could be very hurtful. Sable had no doubt that if his father were to walk in on his mother coddling him he would make a very scathing comment. As it was, Sable was just sliding the eggs out of the skillet and distributing them to each plate when his father entered.

"Morning." He said in a tone that he hoped was steady, while avoiding his father's eyes.

"Morning, son." His father replied, "breakfast?"

"Yea. Just waiting on the toast."

"Extra butter on mine, thanks."

Sable saw his father kiss his mother on the cheek, which warmed his heart. There were not a lot of men who would treat his mother as kindly after she stopped speaking. Even with the occasional unwise comment, his father had been very good to her.

They ate in silence, almost as if they were all avoiding the topic at hand. When Sable's mother began to collect the empty plates from the table, his father finally spoke.

"Your Emissary will be arriving at eleven. I'll still expect you to prep a few of the bolts before then, but when you finish pack your things and put on your nicest sweater."

The tension in his throat was back, the anxiety. Sable nodded wordlessly before asking,

"For how long am I packing? An afternoon? A day?"

His father gave him an incredulous look, and then smiled.

"Try a week."

Sable's jaw dropped, and his father laughed as his expression.

"I told you this was a great gift, Sable, and I wasn't lying."

Sable found his tongue and managed to ask,

"How could you possibly afford…a whole week?"

"That's none of your concern, just be thankful."

Sable couldn't believe it. Everything was happening so fast and so unexpectedly, and now he'd be away from home for an entire week? The cost was mind-boggling. There had to be some other explanation. There was no way…

"Stop staring, lad, and get to prepping that roll of muslin I laid out. Snap, snap!"

Sable obeyed. The studio was the largest part of the house, it was the reason their rooms were all so small. It was a very large room, with shelves and tables lining the walls, and round tubs dotting the open space of the floor. In the back was a walk-in closet where the fabric bolts were kept. The ceiling was tall enough to accommodate huge hanging racks for the completed fabric, the tops accessible by a small platform with its own set of stairs. There was a washtub in the very corner, it's stone walls stained from the various colors that had been washed out of fabric and off their bodies.

Sable liked the studio, even if he couldn't see any of the colors that he knew must exist in here. Whenever anyone visited they would gasp and go on about how beautiful it was with the variety of different colored fabrics and dying tubs. 'Like a rainbow', they would always say, but Sable had no idea what a rainbow looked like in full color glory.

He tried to keep his mind off the arrival of their guest as he prepped the fine white muslin by rolling it out on the floor. He measured and cut and applied different oils that helped the fabric absorb the color. He loved doing this. It made him feel like he was truly contributing something. While he was prepping the muslin his father came in and began to dye a long bolt of silk. He had prepared this material himself, as silk was very precious and he didn't even trust Sable with its care. He was dunking it in the tub that was filled with a color called _blue_. Sable was able to distinguish the names of the different colors by their shades in the tub, but he still didn't always get them right. His father's apron would get stained, as would his long lean arms, but his face was so animated when he was plunging the fabric into the hot dyed water. He looked more alive doing this, his trade, than Sable had ever seen him. He used a long wooden rod to push the fabric about in great circles in the dye over and over, following an by now instinctual timing to know when to take it out.

Sable hung the muslin on one of the lower drying racks when he was finished, and looked to see his father drawing out the silk.

"Do you need a hand?" He asked.

"No, no," his father replied, waving him away, "the last thing we need is your skin inked up for when your Emissary arrives. You know how hard this is to get out, they'll never get you spotless in time."

He looked over his shoulder at Sable and shrugged, turning back to his task.

"Go ahead and start packing; that's all the work I want you doing for today."

Sable's heart plummeted, but he nodded and left the studio, leaving the strong stench of fresh dye behind him. Once in his room, he took a long time to fold the few articles of fine clothing he owned, along with quite a few practical ones and a few private possessions. He arranged them in his worn leather backpack, taking extra care to waste time on the buckles and ties before declaring it sound. He dropped down to sit on his mat, and took a few deep breaths. Now all that remained was to wait. It felt almost like waiting patiently for a wolf to come and bite him, with absolutely no way out.

(((

It was a surprisingly short time later that he heard a knock at their front door above the howling wind. He gulped, feeling his heart speed up. He knew he should get up, should go boldly out to meet the person who would be his caretaker for the entire wee. Instead he felt frozen, paralyzed by uncertainty and not a little by fear. He had to wait until his mother came to his door and ushered him out. Her gentle face eased his nerves enough for him to sling the backpack across his slender shoulders and shove himself up to his feet. She embraced him tightly then, making a small sound in her throat. He hugged her back just as tightly, wondering the entire while which one of them was trembling the most. At last she pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes, and she patted his cheek with a forced smile. Then she turned, and he followed her silent form back out into the kitchen, which was the main entrance.

A man was shaking hands with Sable's father when they entered. He must have cleaned up in quick time at the sound of the knock, even though he was still wearing his slightly spattered apron. The man looked very strong, with broad shoulders and large hands. Sable's father looked like a child beside him, regardless of the fact that he was not overly tall. Sable couldn't tell the color of his hair, but it was light, perhaps _blond_. His eyes, however were dark and deep, as were his brows. He did not appear to be gruff in manner, but his bulk suggested a sort of power. Sable noted quickly, though, that he had kind eyes.

"Ah, Sable!" His father said, as though greeting him after a long time apart. He came to Sable and put one arm around his shoulders, leading him over to the man. "Here he is, this is Sable."

The stranger was dressed in fine if simple clothes. They were not extraordinary in and of themselves, but Sable saw the intricate patterns woven and stitched onto the tunic, and the quality of the leather coat was far from lost on him. The man looked down at Sable with a blank expression, but his eyes remained warm as he held out one hand.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance on behalf of my client, Sarik Eres. I am Marcus."

His voice was mellow, calming, and Sable took his large hand, and shook it as firmly as he was able. One of Marcus's eyebrows went up slightly and he held onto Sable's hand for a second after the boy had let go. Sable didn't know what to make of it.

"Feel free to ask me anything that you want to know. I am here to care for you while you are away from home and I want you to feel comfortable with me. Think of me as your guardian for the next week."

"Thank you, sir." Sable answered. Marcus finally released his hand and drew out a little screen from an inside pocket in his coat.

" I just need one last signature before we can proceed."

"Of course." Sable's father said, gesturing to the kitchen table. Marcus placed the screen down and tapped a button on the side. The screen lit up, and he opened the file with a password before pointing to a signature line at the bottom of the digital document.

"Go ahead, then, son."

"What?" Sable turned uncomprehending eyes toward his father, who was nodding at the screen.

"Your name, lad. Sign your name."

Sable felt anger pitch in his stomach. He had to sign? In order to proceed? He could make or break this choice, and his father had never told him? He set his jaw, but his face was far from showing his anger. It was more like hurt that reflected there.

"Come along, Sable," Marcus said softly, "I'm sorry but we do have a schedule."

Sable bit his lip and stepped up to the table, taking the little pen that the Emissary handed him and letting it hover above the signature line for a brief second before signing his name in long, curling letters.

"That's it then," Sable's father said, as if relieved. "Off with you now, son."

A thick leather hat, lined with fur was pulled onto his head, the soft ear flaps muffling the sounds of the wind outside. Lean arms wrapped around Sable and hugged him. It was a father's hug; quick, tight, and proud. Sable could not find any comfort in it, but some part of him appreciated it regardless.

Marcus tucked the screen back into his hidden pocket and opened the door for Sable. The cold wind blew at once, bringing a dusting of snow with it. Outside, Sable caught sight of a beautiful carriage with a gleaming copper propulsion system and ornate designs on the metal-and-leather skin. The driver was sitting in the little glass booth on the front, waiting patiently with the control knobs in his hands. Sable went to the door slowly, feeling his heart rate increase with every step. When he reached Marcus, a sudden fear seized him and his entire body turned quickly to look back.

"Father!" He choked out, his voice pleading and lost. There was no room for it in his father's expression. It was stern, commanding, unmoving. Sable took a few audible breaths and had to blink back a few tears. There was no turning back. This was going to happen and there was no escaping it. With one more shuddering breath, he turned again, and walked out into the bitter cold.

He heard the door close behind him, and he was never so happy in his life for the cold wind as he was now, when he could blame his tears on its icy breath.


	3. Chapter 3

Sable's eyes were watering just as much on account of the wind as his aching heart. The short trip from the door of their house to the waiting carriage was enough for the bitter cold to tear at his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He reached the side of the carriage and stood there waiting for Marcus to open it for him. He was not sure how the vehicle operated, or even which of the multiple knobs and cranks might be the handle for the door.

As he heard the muffled crunch of the man's boots against the fallen snow, a heavy gust threatened to push him over. He nearly lost his balance and he stumbled. Instantly a strong hand helped steady Sable against the blast of wind. He was surprised that the man had reacted so swiftly, and that long arm remained around his shoulders.

"Easy there, lad, let's get you inside."

Marcus pulled on a brassy and opened the door. Quickly Sable climbed inside, and was immediately aware of the relief of no longer being in the harsh wind. He sat down on one side of the carriage, admitting to himself even through the twist in his gut that it was very fine. The seats were deep cushioned velvet, and a warm glow came from a heating and lighting unit embedded in the ceiling. Sable nearly winced as he sat down, hating the idea of dampening the cushion of the seat with the snow clinging to his coat. Marcus joined him inside, closing the door to finally block out the howl of the wind, and then he sat down opposite the boy.

"We're ready now." Marcus said into what looked like an ear trumpet to Sable, but he realized it must carry to the driver. A muffled sound of whirring reached his ears beneath the flaps of his hat, and the carriage began moving. He refused to look out of the thick windows to watch his home growing farther away. Instead he focused on his hands, rubbing them together and breathing on them as they went on.

"You alright, lad?" Marcus's deep voice asked him. Sable said nothing, but nodded shakily. He heard Marcus shift on his seat and the next moment large, oversized gloves landed in his lap. "Take those until you warm up for heaven's sake."

Sable now lifted his gaze to the man, who was looking at him with an expression that was somewhere between pity and amusement. Neither sentiment was one Sable felt he deserved at the moment. He glared slightly, unable to control his expression.

"I don't want them." He said flatly, tucking his hands under his arms, not touching the gloves in his lap.

"My arse you don't." Marcus said, his face turning slightly hard now. He stood up, took one step, and was tugging the gloves onto Sable's hands before the boy could protest. "Your hands were freezing long before I even arrived. They were ice cold when you shook my hand."

Sable's frown softened a bit as Marcus resumed his seat. Now he understood that odd look that had crossed the man's face, and why he had held onto his hand for longer than was necessary. Had he been trying to warm it up?

"Now just wear those until it warms up enough in here. Even after, if you really need them." Marcus was not looking at him as he spoke, but had taken the little screen from his pocket and was tapping it strategically with his fingers. Sable glanced down at his hands, swimming in the fleece-lined leather of the huge gloves. This Marcus seemed to be a fine balance of sweet and harsh. He supposed he could have had much, much worse.

"Now," Marcus said, interrupting his thoughts, "there are many options for where I shall be taking you to sight-see over the next few days. Kindly look over this list and choose four or five points of interest. This does not include meals; you can just chose those as the days unfold."

Marcus passed him the screen and Sable fumbled to take it with his gloved hands. He looked at the list of fine famous art galleries, parks, museums, historical and architectural sights, celebrity homes, etc. He clumsily scrolled down the list with his leather-clad pointer finger, and asked,

"So…you'll be taking me then?"

"Yes. Lord Eres is very busy, but even so he'll be spending the last day of your contract with you, after the night of your tryst."

Sable swallowed a bit, nodding to show he understood.

"You called him 'Lord Eres'. What does he do?" Sable asked after a few moments of silence, during which he watched the white world fly by out his window.

"He produces DragonSkin armor to our domestic military." Marcus said, "have you ever seen something made of DragonSkin?"

Sable nodded. DragonSkin, as its name suggested, was the outer skin shed by a dragon once every few weeks. It was extremely durable to the point that it had been used for everything from boots to luggage to armor. The use depended on the thickness of the skin itself. Some skins were thick enough through the scales to fashion outer protection for buildings if enough was available. Others were thin enough to sew into clothes or accessories. Sable had heard that DragonSkin was an expensive fashion statement in the cities.

"Once." Sable said, "a few years ago a man from Rauk was selling DragonSkin gauntlets in the market. It took him nearly two weeks to find a buyer because the price was so high, even though he always had people flooding by his stall to see them. I was one of the regular crowd; they were beautiful, even to me."

Marcus tilted his head slightly at Sable's comment.

"What do you mean by that?" He asked. Sable looked straight into his eyes, surprised. He couldn't tell if the man was bluffing or not, though he seemed sincere.

"Didn't my parents tell you? I thought for sure they would have."

"Told me what?" Marcus asked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he suspected an evil somewhere.

"I'm colorblind."

Marcus' eyes relaxed, and he shrugged, asking,

"Why would your parents feel the need to tell me about that? Is it important?"

Sable stared at the man, seeing him in a whole new light. He came from a completely different place, where something like colorblindness was apparently not a lifelong setback as it was here in Nardack, at least to the son of cloth dyers. To Sable, he might as well have come from a different planet.

"I don't think you understand how important it is to see colors when the family trade is specifically centered around that skill."

As Sable spoke, he saw realization dawn on Marcus' face.

"Ah…that's right, your family dyes cloth, correct?"

Sable nodded, and went back to staring at the list of attractions on the screen.

"That has to have been hard, especially in a village like yours." Marcus did not sound as though he were trying to get on Sable's good side; he truly seemed to understand.

"It is," Sable responded, "which is why my folks apparently think being boned by a stranger will solve all my problems."

Sable felt a surge of heat in his cheeks, unable to believe that the words had actually left him mouth. It had been what he was really thinking, and without his father around to berate him it had just slipped out. There was a silence before Marcus replied, his voice serious as he spoke slowly.

"Lord Eres…Sarik, I mean, is a very kind person. Of all the choices for your Marking, your parents could not have picked a gentler man."

Sable did not respond, and Marcus went on,

"The contract is binding, so I won't lecture you about the futility of having second thoughts now. I will say that you have been given a great opportunity here, and the best you can do is try and enjoy what you can of what it has to offer. If nothing else, enjoy the city. Trust me, there are some amazing sights to behold in Nueton. Make the best of it."

Sable took a deep breath. He knew what Marcus was saying was true, and a part of him took comfort in the fact that the man seemed so sure for him, while another part of him hated Marcus for not seeing how terrified he was. The next second a large hand was on his shoulder. He looked up, not even having realized that Marcus had come over to him again. He also realized that he was shaking.

Marcus' deep brown eyes were staring down into his own ice-grey almond-shaped ones, warm and reassuring as they had been in his family's kitchen.

"I know you're afraid, Sable, but I won't let you get hurt. I promise."

Sable wasn't sure what to make of this statement, considering the man's entire job was to ensure that he had relations with a complete stranger. And yet, Sable did believe him.

"Thanks." He said blandly, meaning it much more than his tone would suggest. Marcus seemed to know this by the squeeze he gave Sable's shoulder before seating himself once again.

"We'll be there in a little over an hour. If you get too bored there is an entertainment screen. You can watch what you like when you've finished choosing your locations of interest."

Sable glanced over at the large screen set into the wall above Marcus' seat.

"I don't know how to work one of those." He admitted, "No one in our village has electricity to spare for anything more than survival."

Marcus smiled genuinely at him.

"Truth be told, lad, that's the way to live."

Sable spent the better half of twenty minutes trying to decide between the various locations on the little screen, having to pick just one per day. It was a difficult decision when he read the descriptions of each place on the list. There was so much more to Nueton that he had not seen beyond the few yearly trips he made with his father to the giant metropolis. They had only been able to set up in the bizarre in the older section of the city, beneath the great towering heads of the innumerable buildings. Sable had always found the Old Section lively and comforting, while the rest of the city was a frightening but exciting unknown world of glamour, speed, and technology that his mind could not even begin to grasp. More than one city person had expressed to Sable and his father that they were still living in the Repressed Age with their tradersman-village lifestyle.

As if they could somehow change that at this point and adapt to a world that was so far beyond their ability to comprehend. Sable had heard over and over that his family, the Knights, had been dying cloth for generations, and there had been no need to change with the times, not where they lived. Apparently there had been a few cousins who had abandoned the trade to move to the city, and had with difficulty managed to integrate into the fast-paced flow of Nueton. Sable had never wanted to be like one of those relatives who were spoken of in disapproving tones, but he had felt the yearning every village child did at some point to explore the possibilities the city had to offer.

Sable's heart leapt a bit as he let this thought sink into him, erasing the thought of the Marking for a brief span of time as he began to grow excited about the locations he picked out. He was going to Inner Nueton…

Before his fear could pass over his excitement again, Marcus announced that they were about to arrive. Sable didn't want to look too eager, and certainly didn't want to look like a child, but he couldn't help inching even closer to his window and all but pressing his face against the glass to try and see through the snow. The sun had burned away enough in the air that he could make out the ground beneath them as they rushed over it, but there was still such a cloud that it was difficult to see. He knew that Nueton was beyond the ring of tall hills and mountains that bordered it. Even so far out as Nardack was he could sometimes make out the lights of Nueton behind them after sundown, showing their soft black silhouettes if it was a clear night.

Through the white cloud of swirling snow, a black wall suddenly seemed to appear through it and bar their way. Sable actually jumped back with a little yelp, and the blinding white light of the snow was extinguished. He panicked for a moment, not understanding, until he caught sight of all the lamps flying by. Just as he realized what had happened, Marcus spoke gently,

"We're just in a tunnel lad. That even threw me for a second because of the snow. Couldn't even see the hill until we were inside of it."

Sable found it hard to relax after such a fright, but looked out the window on the other side of the carriage and began to see the lights from other carriages, cars, and zoomers riding alongside them. Now he recognized this tunnel; his father and he had to travel through it on the far side, where a long stretch of the road was gated off for foot traffic like the villagers. The tunnel was flying by at such speed, however, that he barely realized that he knew where they were before the light of the snow blinded him again as they emerged into the lanes of traffic leading into the outer rim.

"I've never been past the first rim before." Sable said in a quiet voice. "Usually we just set up in the bizarre and…" He trailed off as he tried to focus on something, anything that he could identify. He was hoping to have that great view of Nueton with all its various buildings, but the snow was too thick.

"How do the drivers see in this?" He asked, the thought suddenly frightening him.

"Sensor technology." Marcus replied, without looking up from the screen he had taken back from Sable and was once more tapping at with his fingertips.

Sable was not about to admit that he had no idea what sensor technology was, but felt reassured by Marcus' relaxed and trusting attitude about the driver's ability not to crash their carriage.

For almost twenty minutes Sable tried to get a real glimpse of the cityscape, but the snow was obscuring all the taller buildings and they were now themselves in the thick of the city. He did have plenty to look at; the crowded streets, incredible storefronts, the feet of giant monuments that he could barely make out through the blizzard. Even so, it strained his eyes and after a time he just sat back and waited. Eventually he felt the carriage rock to a gentle stop, and Marcus looked up from the screen.

"Here we are. You might be able to see the front of the place before you go inside, if you look hard. Even with this snow I think it should be visible up close." Marcus winked at him and then opened the door, stepping out first. Sable slipped his hat back on, tying the ear flaps down and followed cold here was no less intense than his home, but without the harsh wind which was blocked by the tall buildings. He could hear it roaring high above his head, and tilted back to stare up at the blank white sheet of swirling snow that hid the tops of the high buildings. He could only faintly see the lowest rises through his blinking eyes, dark at their bases and then fading up into nothingness.

"You can stare later, lad, I promise." Marcus said with a chuckle, guiding him forward with a hand on his back. "There will be much more to see when the snow lets up."

Sable then looked at the building in front of which they had stopped. It was more of a house really. A more beautiful house than Sable had ever seen before. It was crafted in the older style of homes, with tall pillars and swirling masonry designs. The roof looked to be peeked rather than flat, which spoke of antiquity. Sable briefly wondered what color it was as he was ushered toward the door.

Marcus let him carry his own bag, but walked him through the front door. Sable had been expecting rich surroundings, and he was not disappointed. The carpet was so plush beneath his favored boots that he felt guilty, just as he had when he had sat on the cushion in the carriage. The front hallway was lined with intricately-framed mirrors, and Sable had to blink at the sight of such a simple Nardathian boy in oversize gloves and a worn leather hat walking into such a tall and grand entrance. The ceiling towered over Sable, and everywhere he looked here small but expensive decorations or furnishings.

At that moment a shorter, well-dressed older man emerged from an unexpected door made to look like part of the wall. Sable jumped a bit and the man barely gave him a second glance as he at once spoke to Marcus.

"Welcome back, Marcus." He said, only then letting his eyes fall deliberately on Sable and looking him up and down, not unkindly, as he asked, "I trust your journey went well?"

"As well as it could without any scenery to entertain." Marcus replied, shedding his coat and all but tossing it at the man. Sable was slightly shocked, but then the man reached out an arm to him, waiting. Sable stared at him, then looked to Marcus, who was shaking his head to relieve his hair of snow that had crept in beneath his hood.

"Give him your coat, Sable, that's his job."

Sable slowly eased his bag off his shoulder and had to slip Marcus' gloves off before he could get out of his sleeves. The man took them from him before he had offered, and then he pulled off his coat and handed it to the man, who took it with an amused expression.

"Thanks." Sable muttered, unused to anyone ever taking responsibility for his own things.

"Your quite welcome, sir." The man replied.

"Just Sable's fine." Sable said, quickly picking up his bag and donning it once again, "No one's ever called me 'sir' in my life."

"If you insist." The man said.

"Sable, this is Jor. He keeps the house for Lord Eres. If you ever want or need anything, just tell him. He's here to serve you."

Sable's intensely uncomfortable look didn't seem to disturb Jor or Marcus, and the latter turned to him and said,

"We'll be eating lunch in a half-hour. Jor will show you to your room and you can relax until then. I'll come to get you when it's ready. Feel free to change into something more comfortable if you wish."

Sable nodded to show that he understood, and then Marcus walked forward, down the huge front hallway to a doorway on one side, and disappeared. Jor smiled at him.

"Follow me then, sir."

Sable felt too timid to remind the man that he didn't want to be called anything but his given name, and simply followed him. The hallway branched to the right and left ahead, and they went left and Sable found himself in a huge hall with a spiral staircase in the center. He had thought that the front hallway was big, but it was only half the size of this magnificent room. Keeping up with Jor up the staircase was difficult when he was trying to crane his neck to see every detail he could. It was impossible to take in all at once and he was once again bewildered to think that his parents could have afforded this kind of accommodation.

He was actually relieved when his room was revealed to be large, but not so huge that he felt he could get lost, like most of the other rooms they had walked through to get there. The ceiling was tall, something that he still had to get used to, and the walls were richly patterned. For the countless' time in his life he wished he could see how color added to the beauty around him. His bed was four times larger than his little mat at home. He just caught himself from asking if it was a real mattress before realizing how ignorant he would sound. Of course it was a real mattress.

Jor left him alone, thankfully quickly to let him settle in, and Sable at once shucked his boots and sweater, shivering a bit through his thinner undershirt. He could not resist the urge to sit on his bed first of all. He closed his eyes slowly as he sunk into the mattress, again unable to fathom how incredible everything was. The next second he had stood up and was walking to a door on the other side of the room. It was his very own bathroom. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. All they had back home was a little closet with a dingy seat and tub that poured out cold water. Here was a marble-floored room with a pristinely white tub and even a shower. Sable was already feeling a huge surge of longing to give it a try; he had never used a real shower before. He almost felt dirty standing there, staring at his reflection in the long mirror above the counter and sink.

He decided that could wait. A half-hour was hardly enough time for him to indulge as he now really wanted to, and he would rather stay up late into the night than rush through this luxury now. He returned to his bed and flopped over onto it, grinning like a child. Despite the circumstances, he realized he would have to be an absolute idiot not to be giddy inside. It was all too beautiful, too rich, and he was going to enjoy it for an entire week. Unbelievable.


End file.
